


My Heart Will Go On

by Diddle_Riddle



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Chance Meetings, Character Death, Family Feels, Feelings, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Siblings, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diddle_Riddle/pseuds/Diddle_Riddle
Summary: A mythic boat. A love story. An unexpected meeting that changed everything.Aka, this is the Riddlebat Titanic AU you never knew you wanted.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Edward Nygma
Comments: 39
Kudos: 11





	1. On Board

"Bruce, honey, look up!", his mother tapped his shoulder for him to take his eyes off his book, what he did reluctantly. "Isn't this cruise liner a marvel?"

"I am not team marvel.", Bruce muttered. "It's just a boat."

"Someone is back at being a moody brat again."

"Thomas! That's not a way to talk to your son."

Bruce let them argue, not caring much about them until the car stopped and valets helped his mother descend the steps. The eighteen years old finally gazed at the ship when he put his feet on the ground of the crowded harbor; whilst a bunch of maids and valets carried the luggages his parents, himself, and his cousins the Kane family, who do the trip with them, carried.

"I'm so happy to go home.", Kate stood next to him, watching the massive boat.

"Me too.", Bruce appended, unable to conjure up a convincing show of excitement.

This would be a lie, of course. A lie he'd wear as a mask.

After three years in Europe, he didn't want to go back to United States. Didn't want to see Gotham again. Didn't want to return to the family mansion. Didn't want to... live this life.

 _"They're gonna chain me again, Alfred.",_ he said in his head, those words he will never be allowed to voice out loud and must keep bottled, no matter how desperately he aimed to scream them, shout them at the top of his lungs. _"They're gonna lock me in their Manor, treat me like an amusement or a pet they can show off during receptions, without ever letting me live, without enabling me to think for myself. I don't want to go back. Please. I don't want to..."_

In another context, Bruce could have participated to the ambient euphoria related to the ship in front of them. He loved art, he concurred: the boat _is_ elegant from the outside, and... wonderful from the inside, as he certified once they stepped in the first class quarters. He didn't pay attention to his mother's empty talks with ladies from the high society, no more than he minded the 'viril discussions' between his father and other men among these the naval architect.

He didn't care about anything. As soon as he had the authorization, he went to his cabin. He didn't want to see the ship leaving, didn't want to abandon the harbor, didn't want to get involved in the travel, didn't want to... do anything.

Bruce slouched on the bed of his cabin.

"I'm sorry.", he whispered in the emptiness of the room, not knowing who or what he talked to at this instant.

Alfred? He was sorry he didn't find a life here in Europe, that he remained prisoner from his family name and was now compelled to follow his parents to Gotham. So yes, he apologized to Alfred: by not doing something with his life, it felt like betraying his butler's faith in him.

J? That was not even a question: _of course_ he apologized to J. Not that Jack Napier would care about his moral issues, the Irish boy has every reason to want him dead. He won't ever see him again; if he did though? If he came back to the hospital and apologized to the young man, then sure thing J would try to kill him.

So there he was, _sorry._

And about to be dragged back to Gotham by force, this 10 of April 1912, on board of the Titanic.

"Isn't this luxury lifestyle?", Edward taunted, in their third grade cabin. "Bunk beds, not too much dirt, it doesn't smell that bad and I could _almost_ believe there are no rats in this boat. We're VIPs, aren't we?"

Stephanie laughed as he went on, stepping in the shoes of a real estate agent who would tout the reduced, shabby space with no window as if it was a palace.

Arthur and Crystal shared a smile.

They booked a cabin for four persons, as were designed most of the rooms on this side of the ship.

"Come in, kids.", Arthur offered once they placed their baggages, the only things they possess, under the lower beds. "Let's go outside wave at all the people who wished they'd be at our place."

He scooped his four years old daughter up, and the... family? exited the cabin to walk on the massive vessel deck. While they never evoked it openly, they _were_ indeed leaving Europe as a... family.

As Edward bragged, he is a native American, even if he doesn't remember much of his time there, his father and him moved to England when he was a child. Albeit he has no 'home' to return to, he is over the moon to undertake this trip.

They leave their problems behind, to begin their own American dream and have a fresh start in United States. Edward lives at Crystal and Arthur Brown's since the past years, with their daughter Steph whom he... literally raised with them. Sometimes _in place_ of them due to the absence of a maternal instinct from Crystal and... bad habits, let's call them that, from Art. Not that Ed could blame them: they welcomed him in their home, and now he... leaves Europe with them.

As their son, even if the word has never been pronounced.

"Goodbye!", Stephie said in a high-pitched voice, watching the crowd below them once they approached the railing of the ship's bridge.

Edward smiled.

Even with their flaws, the Browns make huge efforts to catch up on the 'parents role' they didn't endorse enough with their daughter so far. Better late than never. Eddie was proud to stand next to them as they waved at the people, laughing with other passengers on board.

This trip will be one of their first actual 'family adventures', the four of them together.

____________

Comments on the refined fish and sauce at dinner echoed in Bruce's ears when they had dessert. What was he eating? It's a pie. With fruits inside. And a cream. Cherry pie with chocolate cream. Must be that.

Has food always been so... tasteless? Just like music. Everyone says the music is lovely. Bruce doesn't even hear it. In fact he doesn't... grasp anything, this evening. He follows the movements after dinner, stays in his bubble that distorts tastes and sounds.

An hour passes. A second. A third. A fourth? It's night, the stars are bright in the ink black sky when he exits his cabin. At some point he had told his mom he was not feeling well, he went to bed early. A maid brought him a camomile infusion, he thanked her and left the cup, untouched, on the bedside table. At present, he exhaled in the night air. It was not chilly, though cold enough not to have many bystanders outside at this hour.

Bruce's gaze travelled to the back of the ship, which he couldn't discern with the stairs and the other cabins unless...

The bubble surrounding him pierced, ripped, tore itself apart. All this fake world, these fake sounds, fake tastes, fake people... he tried his best to isolate himself, to pretend, to... still standing in the middle of all of this, not living, merely surviving.

The only person who cared about him is dead ten years ago, shot in an alley in Gotham City. And his parents wanted him to go back there? Go back to the town that murdered Alfred, while _he_ died that night too, he never managed to overcome the loss?! And J... J was in a hospital at Dublin with a shattered spine, paralyzed forever because of their stupid games, being so-called acrobats who jumped, climbed and ran across town... until the day they had an accident, and J did the worst possible fall while they played in a chemical factory.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. His father threatened him regularly long before this incident, insisted that he must stop his "indecent line of conduct with that street rat", as he qualified his friendship with J and... J himself.

When Jack Napier got hurt badly, this has been too much for his parents.

Two months later here they were, in the Titanic to head back to United States. They were always meant to return to their birth country, whereas they probably wouldn't have so soon if it wasn't for the "bad influence" his mother attested. She wanted to put him back in a golden cage and make sure he'll never walk the streets again, or even talk to anyone aside from those dumb friends of hers.

There was something like a... raucous, whistling sound hammering in his ears, that invaded his reflexes... and then Bruce was running. Running like he did with J across Dublin, running like he performed as his self-training since childhood, running as fast as he could, for that is one of the rare moments he feels alive. He could run for hours, enjoying the wind brushing against his face and... was he crying? He must be crying: it's not raining so there is... no reason for his cheeks to be wet, his vision to be blurred as he almost ran unto the rare people around, going as far as he could...

Bruce slowed down.

He was on a ship, not in a town. There is not... much room to run. There is a _limit,_ like there: the stern. He looked over. Nobody around, no one to see him, no one to... tell him "don't do that" or ask him to step back.

He gripped the railing with both hands, so strongly it hurt his knuckles.

This would be so easy.

"Would you be disappointed if I jumped, Alfred?", he whispered, his voice shaking and his blue eyes shining with tears, still he remained determined.

This was a foolish question. Naturally, Alfred _will be_ disappointed. However Alfred... wasn't there. He abandoned him, left him alone in this fake world who was, slowly but surely, eating him alive.

So why couldn't he decide on his own? Instead of letting _them_ kill him, couldn't _he_ do the job himself? They won't claim this victory. They already own everything else, they won't have his death as well.

"And this is Orion.", Edward indicated. "Yes, over there."

"Is there where you come from?"

"Nope! I'm from another constellation."

They giggled, animatedly commenting on astronomy. This area fascinates Edward since his youngest age, and he found a little fan in Stephanie who, contrary to everyone else when he broached the topic, is _genuinely interested_ and wants to learn more.

Admiring the sky from the deck of a boat is a novelty. So far, they only watched from the roof of the Browns' house, until they were forced to sell it, a result from lack of incomes. The sale of the house, although meager, has been enough to buy their tickets on the Titanic and leave with a briefcase of money they converted in dollars before they embarked.

Earlier this afternoon, Steph had been overly enthusiastic when they saw dolphins swimming. This has been a joyful moment for most children... and grown-ups too, who defined this as "a sign of luck", to see dolphins on a first day of ocean crossing.

Tonight, their first on board, Edward and Stephanie were having a great time watching the sky from this unprecedented setting. The fact they were just the two of them added to the charms.

From the corner of his eye, Ed caught a man running on the bridge above them, then vanishing behind the last cabins at the extreme back of the ship. He wouldn't have minded if it wasn't for the fact he was... crying, he isolated _this_ detail.

"Stephie? How about we take a look over there?"

"What's over there?", the little girl asked innocently.

"I don't know... I could be wrong. If I am not, somebody certainly wants to... get reminded there are people here."

He took her hand, covered of purple gloves as a consequence from the cold; they rapidly reached the stranger's location. Someone who runs at night on board of a ship, in tears and hurrying to the stern with the impression to be... desperate, this painfully radiated from him, _should be_ watched over.

"Hey, what are you doing?!", Stephanie spoke first as they arrived at a desert side of the cruise liner, with the young man... standing _behind_ the safety fence, facing the ocean. "You aren't supposed to go past that barrier!"

Bruce looked behind him, to the... blonde girl and ginger teenager who stood there, holding hands like siblings typically do when walking outside. The child eyed him with a total incomprehension, whilst the redhead's facial expression reflected a genuine concern.

"Sir?", he asked, his right hand raising, slowly, as one would when approaching a wounded, wild animal. "This is not a..."

"Do not approach!", Bruce remembered all of a sudden he _cannot_ let visitors distract him, he has something to achieve!

"Or what?", the teen pushed forward, though his voice remained delicate.

"Or I jump!"

"You'd jump?", the girl repeated.

She pulled her purple beanie on her forehead.

"If you jump, you're going to die.", she stated, with that usual children naivety. "Why would you do that? You want to die?"

"I..."

His heart was beating fast in his chest. _Do you really want to die, Bruce? Really?,_ a dry voice scolded him internally.

"You don't want to do that.", the redhead reinforced, in a comforting voice as if he addressed to a small kid and told him, firmly but gently, that it's wrong to throw his cutlery to the floor.

Bruce instantly hated him.

"Who are _you_ to know better than _me_ what I want to do?!"

"Just a guy who's standing on the safe side of the ship.", he answered casually. "And so should you."

He extended his hand in front of him, the left one still holding the child's, who wasn't sure how to interpret what was happening.

"I can drive you to the highest glory if you nurture me, develop me and have recourse to me, for I bring this _impulse_ that gives a meaning to your life. What am I?"

"You are asking me a riddle. _Why_ are you... asking me a riddle?!"

"The question would rather be: what is a richly dressed, handsome-looking young man doing, gripping a railing and contemplating whether he should jump or not in a freezing water, with for sole subject to ponder over is will he die under the impact of the collision, or, if he survives this, how long would it take for him to drown?"

Bruce gazed at the frothy water and the huge boat propellers, rotating at a steady rhythm, like two giant metal spinning tops.

"I... I am... tired."

"Then you should go to bed.", the girl jested, incredulous. "Not play superhero or whatever and wonder if you will fly from that ship."

Despite himself, Bruce... smiled. This is _definitely not_ how he thought his evening would go on.

"Willpower.", he responded, looking back to the teenager. "That's the answer to your riddle."

"Correct.", he hummed, appreciative. "And right now, yours is making you take... questionable decisions. Want to hear another riddle?"

"Hu... maybe, yes."

"You must come back on the deck for that."

Bruce glared at him.

" _Go away._ Both of you. I... want to be alone."

"Too bad for you.", Ginger yawned in an obnoxious manner. "Your predictable demand is becoming boring and we are not going anywhere. Do you know anything about stars? We were in the middle of an astronomy lesson, we can pursue it there. Right, Steph?"

"Fine by me! From where you're standing, weird-jumping-dude, you are in front of Andromeda. Look up, it's bright in the sky."

Bruce blinked, at a loss.

"What's constantly running out, and you long to catch up on after you lost it?"

"... Time."

"Exactly! Your turn: give us a bit of yours.", he invited.

His tranquil voice wasn't that frustrating, in the end. More like... appeasing.

"Can you come with us, talk about the stars and conundrums? Or something else if you prefer. Let me be selfish: I _just met you_ and you _answered_ riddles, I would be sad if you disappeared."

When did Bruce's smile _stay_ on his face?

"I... I think I can do that."

"Great! I shall find a hard riddle, then."

Bruce noticed the teen let go of the girl's hand to come closer to the barrier.

"Careful. Given that obviously perfectly-shaped musculature of yours that must weigh a tonne, if you happened to fall, I wouldn't be able to catch you."

"... I am not fat.", he countered with disbelief.

"I never said 'fat', muscle is not grease. But comparatively, you are _far too heavy_ for me to carry you bridal style, so... you'd be a dear if you pass that railing without slipping. You'll manage?"

"I... I will."

As to prove a point, Bruce effortlessly went back to the bridge.

Before he got to reflect over what happened or... could have happened, the younger ones shared a glance, then the redhead grabbed his left hand and the child his right one, in an unsublte though evident maneuver to drag him away from the railing. He didn't object. On the contrary, he found himself... well, _smiling,_ there again.

"So you were... watching the stars?"

"Yup!", the blonde confirmed vigorously. "The sky is clear, plus it's so cool from a boat! It's the first time I embark on a ship, what about you?"

"Not my first. I... love to travel."

He looked down.

"What's yours but others use more often than you do?"

"Your name. It's an easy one."

"Sure, but it's a _starting point._ I'm Edward Nygma.", he introduced himself.

"Stephanie Brown!"

"... Bruce Wayne. Hu... thanks for... barging in."

"Thank the stars!", the little girl –Stephanie– rectified happily. "If it was rainy or cloudy, we wouldn't have been outside tonight."

The three of them actually _laughed_ at that, Bruce in an held back manner. He was sincerely amused, nonetheless.

"Then I should consider you guys my... lucky stars?"

"I like that.", the ginger –Edward– boasted. "I always knew I am meant to shine and to be the light of everyone's lives."

"He's like that.", Steph chuckled. "He thinks he is exceptional and must remind it all the time."

"That's because I _am_ and everyone shall acknowledge my innate superiority."

No one evoked the aborted suicide attempt, to his own surprise Bruce enjoyed talking with them on the vessel deck. When they parted ways, Edward proposed they'll meet again tomorrow. Bruce agreed, and... went back to his cabin.

No dark thoughts polluted his mind when he fell asleep tonight. He had a... good time, the first since J, with his unexpected lucky stars.


	2. Draw My Life

As planned, he met Edward Nygma and Stephanie Brown the tomorrow day, spent the morning and noon chatting with them about this and that in a... surprisingly _friendly atmosphere._ This seemed 'surprising' to Bruce for the reason he is one of the most poorly skilled persons when it comes to 'making friends'. At the sparse occasions he did, said 'friends' were at best outsiders, if not potentially-psychotic weirdos.

Proof is: his bestie distracted himself by making everything _burn_ around him, escaping as the police arrived, getting hired in smuggling networks and laughing hysterically like a maniac every ten minutes or so. Plus he asked to be called a letter, 'J', in place of any actual name or nickname. To mention only these... particularities of his.

Alfred belongs to another sphere: he lived at Wayne Manor long before Bruce's birth, so although he will forever consider him a close friend, the butler impersonated the figure of a parent / mentor / role model rather than strictly a pal's.

In the first class quarters there is one kid, who must be slightly older than Steph: Timothy Drake, Bruce caught him introducing himself in the main hall yesterday, standing proudly between his archeologist parents. A despicable perfect son, just hearing him _talk_ rubbed Bruce the wrong way. He spotted three teens aside from Kate and him; unlike his cousin who went straight talk to them from day one and appeared in a _friendship_ already, Bruce had no interest getting involved.

As he found out however, the other decks are inhabited by more children. They weren't allowed to run on the bridges for security matter, the parents were explicitly required to watch over their offsprings, make sure they won't bother passengers.

These rules don't keep the kids from playing whilst their parents enjoy the sunny day, babbling left and right. Aside from families, most persons here are complete strangers towards one another. Notwithstanding this, adults exchange far more naturally in the present setting than they would if meeting at work, in a café or walking in the streets.

Being the Titanic's very first passengers, on board of the ship what was one of the most mediatized architectural and artistic prowess of the decade, constitues a... bonding factor. It was amusing too, to hear different languages, people bought their ticket to immigrate from various European countries. A funny lesson has even been improvised by a British teacher from the third class, for teens who wanted to practice their English.

Bruce watched this scene from afar.

He felt grateful neither Edward nor Stephanie evoked the 'detail' of how they met. By the way, he collected odd glances from passengers on this deck, who visibly wondered what someone dressed like this was doing _there,_ and not in the upper bridges. Ed and Steph got the same gazes when he invited them at 'his part' of the boat earlier, since they _weren't wearing_ a tailored suit and a chic lace dress.

They shared mostly about the younger ones' (Ed is sixteen, whereas Bruce would have bet he was younger given his... delicate appearance) centers of interest, their dreams when arriving in America and some of their experiences. The beginning of afternoon had passed when Bruce gave away a 'personal' element.

"You draw stuff?", Stephie repeated, interested by his hint at having a passion. "Are you an artist?"

"I wouldn't say 'artist'. Though... I am not that bad."

'Not that bad' is an euphemism. Bruce is aware he has a _talent_ in this field; even if his parents qualify the activity a "frivolous pastime".

"You'd show us?", the girl requested.

"... If you want!"

He disappeared in his cabin to grab material, more pleased than he was willing to admit upon interacting with people who are intrigued by something he does.

By something concerning exclusively _him,_ not his last name.

The three of them settled on the lower deck, not far from the prow of the ship. Bruce opened his current notepad he begun a couple of days ago.

"You have a thing for bats?", Edward highlighted, his curiosity piqued by the sketches.

Bruce drew nine pages of this notebook. Eight drawings featured bats: three were realistic views of European bats from multiple angles, he worked on the position of the wings, paws, neck, ears, snout... even a –kinda cute– bat _yawning._ Another page showed three bats flying on top of a forest, a full moon behind them. The rest used divergent landscapes as background, with invariably a close-up view of a bat at the forefront. The ninth featured a port. Far different from Southampton, from where the Titanic departed, this one captured a traditional 'small fishermen harbor' ambiance.

"I love bats.", he murmured, a sincere attachment surfaced in his intonation. "Nothing like what some stories associate to them, treating them like demons while they are... beautiful, enigmatic creatures. I am not superstitious.", he justified his definition. "Contrary to my mother and... lots of my parents' contacts."

"If you are trying to figure out whether we cross the road when seeing a black cat on the sidewalk," Eddie scoffed, "then too bad for you rich kid, there's nothing I hate more than animal bashing over foolish assumptions."

"You hate dogs.", Stephanie jeered. "Over _assumptions."_

"Except those are _valid beliefs._ They are simple-minded, they reek, bark nonstop, attack cats and birds who, as for them, are _superior beings._ Still, I would never hurt a dog, or... anything else really, over creeds. The sole time I kicked one was when trying to retrieve my pant leg and a piece of my calf from a mad beast's jaws. A luck the thing wasn't a rabid, even without that I spent days in bed with a high fever and it hurt for _weeks._ I could believe that one was a demon."

Bruce smiled as they debated over... animals. Apparently Ed and Steph frequently fed stray cats in their neighborhood, they entrusted friends of theirs with the mission of carrying on the habit.

In return Bruce described creatures they never saw, such as chameleons, iguanas, hummingbirds or lion tamarins; prized beasts some of his parents' friends bought as pets. When he saw an oddity, he _drew it_ every time.

"But my all-time favorite models are bats.", he validated. "In addition to everything I can think of bat-related."

"Alright, Dracula.", Edward mocked. "Sadly, you won't find a bat in this boat."

Bruce didn't specify he doesn't need models to draw, he rather retorted:

"I'll line up with a thematically accurate drawing: the ship we're in."

"How original."

Their following improvised activity attracted kids, Ed invited them to join, and, before Bruce got a say in the matter, he found himself sitting on the wooden deck, his back against the full railing of this side of the cruise liner, pages and pens spread on the floor and a circle of children around him, amazed by the rainbow of colored pens and the bat drawings discernible amongst the thick textured papers.

It's not that Bruce doesn't like children, he never... minded them, never interacted with them, at rare exceptions. As a child, he was delivered private education at Wayne Manor, he never went to school. In fact, aside from receptions his parents hosted or were invited at, during which he met other sons and daughters dressed up to blend in with their birthers from the high society, he never... spoke to kids. He never bonded with Kate beyond a 'polite relatives link'.

Right now he wasn't uncomfortable, though. Stephanie and Edward did most of the talking / animation / stage play, as if the totality of what they formulate _must_ make them comparable to overdramatic actors. Ed... asked riddles, then deplored the spectators' "deficient intelligence" when the children didn't answer right. Bruce had no idea _how_ he managed this: his teasing, that could have been perceived as mean and a tab hurtful in another context, was here... amusing. It made the kids laugh, they replied he is weird, what Eddie rectified into "the correct term is _unique_ ". Even not participating to the friendly banter, Bruce judged the all thing to be entertaining.

Ed didn't know what to do when Steph put a sheet of paper in his hands. She was –quite messily– drawing herself as a princess wrapped in a purple and black cowboy attire, a crown on top of her Stetson hat, ridding a horse, a Smith & Wesson in her right hand and a hairbrush in the left, her blond hair, long enough to be Rapunzel's on the picture, undulated freely behind her like a golden river.

Bruce was... practically sure most heroines in little girls' imagination don't look like that.

Eddie stared at his paper, hesitant for the first time whilst the small circle of children discussed their drawing-in-the-making, after they thanked Bruce who allowed them to use as much paper as they want and all the pens.

Edward doesn't have for habit to... write, or draw; except when it's to show something to Stephanie that is easier to grasp thanks to a written track. For himself, he organizes his reflections _in his head,_ no need to keep exterior blueprints.

Furthermore he was... not an artist, he won't be capable to draw perfectly. 'Decent' is not an option: when he is aware that what he undertakes won't give birth to an exceptional result, he most likely doesn't try it.

"I know!", he eventually selected an alternative.

There, that will be a revenge on Bruce drawing so... superbly, no other adjective rendered accurately the young man's optimal skills.

Edward folded the paper in place of tracing lines with the pens.

Stephie frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"It's a surprise!"

They stayed there, Bruce finished his Titanic, then decided to take the five kids' command and offer them the drawing he'll produce afterwards, in addition to telling them they can keep the pages on which they sketch.

This provoked a wave of enthusiasm amongst the group.

Bruce credited Edward whom, if he didn't draw, came up with _origami_ to illustrate each drawing Bruce was making. Therefore first one was a boat, second one an elegantly-shaped sword, a robin, a dragon and so forth. Drawing plus origami made a matching pair.

"This is my father.", Stephanie indicated when a tall blond man came nearby, to check on what they were doing. "He is not very smart, but he's trying."

Arthur sighed. Bruce smiled, that's not the kind of hilarious introduction he'd do when talking of his own parents.

"Your daughter is an angel.", he gently addressed the man.

Instead of taking the compliment, Steph ruined it:

"So was Lucifer!"

"Stephie..."

The teens laughed at the adult's transparent despair.

"Art, this is Bruce Wayne. Bruce, Arthur Brown.", Edward endorsed the 'official' role, holding back another chuckle at the father-and-daughter interaction (he was so proud of Art for, precisely, _trying his best_ and always so amused by Stephanie's bouncy commentary). "We met yesterday evening, he was watching the stars as well. Now, contrary to what you implied, I've got the proof there _are_ other people who do that, Steph and I are no longer the only ones."

Arthur extended an arm for them to share that typical strong handshake. Bruce found it risible, albeit he preferred this cultural greeting to women's: kissing on the cheeks. He stayed blasé when having to kiss women on _both cheeks_ at receptions, he imagined this to be worse if _being a woman_ and knowing you must kiss every single person all the time when invited somewhere.

That damn etiquette...

"Look, daddy!", Steph bragged, showing her page. "I made a super cool drawing!"

"So... you are not her brother, aren't you?"

They don't sport the same family name, so it's not like it comes as much of a shock, still... Bruce wanted to hear it _confirmed,_ he sought for a clarification after Stephanie left, happily clinging her father's hand to join her mother, in order to go on with a routine of beginning of evening. Bruce picked his craft material up once the activity was over, he stored it back inside his cabin then walked outside on the upper deck. He put his elbows on the railing of the west side of the boat in one of the open air corridors, his eyes lost unto the deep blue waves of the calm water brushing against the hull of the ship. The day remained sunny although the sky slowly but surely drifted into its pink, orange and red evening colors.

Bruce didn't dissent when his... 'Titanic aquaintance' reappeared, he imitated his position on the railing on his left. Why is Edward staying with him? Was he... somehow feeling responsible for him? As if he believed he shouldn't leave Bruce alone during the trip? Was that out of inquisitiveness from him? Or due to his way to express... kindness?

"Depends.", Eddie shrugged, his response cutting short Bruce's brainstorming. "If you refer to genetics, then no, I am not Stephanie's brother. As far as I'm aware, biological links don't determine a relationship with someone."

"I suppose you're right. It's just that, you interact with her and her family as if you were... a part of it."

"In a way, I am! I... gave a hand to Crystal, her mother, with _many things_ including helping her take care of her health, and Arthur sort of became my father the day he punched my dad so hard the man lost a tooth and ended with his brow bone as well as self-esteem shattered as he hit the ground.", he mentioned, as casual as if he was talking about the weather. "I let you visualize, it was a classical scenery of yells, broken glass, blood all over. Not pretty."

"... Why had Mr Brown done that?"

"Because he walked in an afternoon at my at-the-time house, when my loving dad expressed his fatherly affection the best manner he knows: by deciphering what would be the most successful method to beat me to a pulp between two gulps of his disgusting whiskey. Some existential question he tried to solve there."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's been months since I last spoke to the bastard, and with this travel, I am practically certain I will never see him again. Or so I hope."

Bruce nodded. A portion of him wanted to say he related, at least on the hatred feeling, if not on the physical abuse. He won't append nonetheless, that he despised his parents just as much, but due to 'society standards', will never be able to confess it.

That made him feel guilty: Edward had been a charming company all day, and now revealed what was, without a doubt, the truth on a sensitive topic; while as for him Bruce kept on _lying._ He didn't even know _why_ the redhead bothered to maintain an exchange with someone who doesn't...

"Stop this.", Ed ordered quietly, cocking his head to the side to grant his eldest a soothing glance. "I know what you are thinking: you wonder why I am being nice and why I seem to care while we met... not 24 hours ago yet. Don't you?"

"You are... scarily perceptive."

"Thank you."

Bruce doubted _anyone else_ would have taken 'scarily perceptive' as a compliment.

"Want another evidence of how perspicacious I am?", Eddie pushed forward in a boastful voice. "I know something about you that you don't."

"Oh, really?", Bruce played along. "May I know what it is?"

"You may!"

Ed's tone went back at serious though appeasing when he claimed:

"I am good at figuring people out."

"Should I understand you figured _me_ out?"

"I did."

He was so confident. Bruce expected some obvious deductions regarding his status, or a behavioral analysis of his inexistent, close to abysmal social skills, based on an observation of his interactions with children. He was not ready however, for the simple sentence Edward let out in a soft, nearly lulling tone:

"You wouldn't have jumped."

Bruce glared at him. Hard.

"This is not funny."

"I agree! Nothing 'funny' there, only _facts._ If no one came yesterday, you would have stayed gripped to your railing, crying and whimpering to yourself as you listed in your head everything that went wrong and disappointed you in your life. This could have lasted an hour, more maybe, then you would have realized you have _nothing to do_ on the external side of the stern's security fence, you would have come back on the deck, cried some more, walked to your cabin, lock yourself inside and crash down in your bed, deeply convinced to be useless, weak, pathetic and condemned to be forever a misfit in this world. See? Definitely not 'funny', that's actually... quite _depressing,_ let's call things what they are, to feel so hopeless at your age and in your situation. Regardless, I am about 92% sure you wouldn't have jumped, Bruce Wayne."

"92?", Bruce quoted the precise number. "What's up with the remaining 8 percent, then?"

"Science is not exact! It keeps a precautionary margin of error in its reasonings. Consider this 8% the adjustment variable, a sort of... 'contigency coefficient' if you want. When making hypotheses, you should always keep a bit of space in your speculations for the unforeseeable."

"I shall remember this."

__________

"How was dinner?"

"According to guests, the food was 'delicious' and 'to die for'. Not that anything has... the shadow of a flavor to me lately, everything I eat tastes the same. As for the conversation, that was a calamity. At our table, everyone was fascinated by adjustable head restraints."

"What's fascinating about head restraints?", Stephanie furrowed her eyebrows, in a gesture reminiscient of a little detective who nurtures the ambition to get to the bottom of an affair.

"... The fact they are adjustable. Believe it or not, we spoke about this for over twenty minutes.", Bruce shook his head at the ludicrous topic. "It's always like that, they speak of mundane stuff as if these were captivating subjects. It's not specific from people on board, being forced to attend those conversations is... the story of my life."

He hadn't meant to make it sound so dull, yet... he _wasn't_ radiating poise and joie de vivre.

"This must be funny!", the girl cheered; a motto for her philosophy would be 'optimistic side of life for the win'. "You must have a good time making fun of them when they speak of stupid things as if those were magnificient."

"For a while, I had.", Bruce acknowledged, a faint smile stretching on his lips. "But it's been eighteen years, now I just... find this exhausting, to listen to their hollow talks, pretend and permanently wear a fake polite mask."

"What does 'hollow' mean?", Stephie inquired.

"It means empty, lacking of substance." her brother defined. "The word applies for objects or, like here, conversations. It also works to qualify ideas, political speechs or promises."

"Okay. I... still find it funny!", she giggled. "If I were you Bruce, I would take notes of the dumb things they say, and since you draw like a professional, you could replicate them and copy their replies in comic books later!"

Edward and her joked about this, they elaborated an imaginary writing / drawing comic book project until Bruce felt better, he gradually relaxed, safe from the heavy dinner environment. It was night, they had sat on a bench under the starry sky, Stephanie nested between the two teenagers.

"Tomorrow.", Eddie concluded. "After you survived dinner, instead of meeting late like today, you'll come down there enjoy a real party."

"A real party? What are you... alluding to?"

"You will see! I found out they intend to celebrate _every_ evening of the travel. I assure you, you'll wish you'd came on board in the third class quarters. That side of the boat may don't possess silver knives and forks, at least it knows how to have fun."

According to Steph's giggles, they _had_ a good time yesterday evening, prior going out on the deck to contemplate the stars.

"Very well... I mirror the challenge.", Bruce raised up before he thought it through. "I invite you two for dinner tomorrow, I technically have the right to do that. We'll go together to your 'party' afterwards."

He blushed when he realized _what_ his bold move implied, regretted he proposed this and hoped Edward and Stephanie would _decline..._ of course they didn't, for he exclaimed:

"What a charming suggestion! Count on me, I'll be there."

"Me too! I will be the main conversation topic."

That made the three of them laugh.

"I don't doubt it.", Bruce smiled.

Perhaps he'll enjoy a funny dinner at last. That is... if his parents don't blame him too harshly for bringing strays at the table.

Before they parted ways, earlier than yesterday but after a wholesome moment together, Eddie seized a piece of paper from the inside of his stitched dark green vest.

"For you. I stole one of your sheets of paper when you packed, I did this at some point over the evening. You can admire the majestic angles and my breathtaking attention for details."

Bruce wouldn't have used the terms 'majestic' or 'breathtaking', nevertheless he reckoned out loud this creation _is_ a stylish, well-executed object. Doing so, he attested again how any type of praise flatters Ed's ego in a visual manner: his chest puffs with pride, his smirk enlarges, he gives the impression to be way too pleased with himself. He looks like an –adorable– ginger peacock strutting around.

That night, Bruce fell alseep with Edward's bat-shaped origami put on his bedside table, like a talisman to embody this peaceful, sympathetic day.


	3. Thanks for the Memories

"You don't have super cool dresses?"

"Hu... no, sorry.", Bruce had no choice but to disabuse Stephanie as he turned the handle of the door leading to his cabin. "I _don't wear dresses._ Moreover if I did, they... wouldn't fit you."

They giggled. The weather was not exceptional today: they benefitted of a nice though a tab cold morning, afterwards the chubby grey clouds that formed over noon heralded a rainy afternoon. Whereas nothing near a storm, which could have been worrisome when on board of a ship, thick raindrops escaped from the dark cotton covering the sky around the beginning of afternoon, enough for most people to stay under the sheltered parts of the boat.

Therefore, relatively naturally, Bruce proposed a visit of his cabin to his guardian angels of this ocean crossing.

Ed asked for a suit if he were to participate to tonight's dinner in the first class reception room.

"I can't blend in dressed like this.", he stated firmly. "The other clothes in my luggages are pretty similar, I don't have... suits."

Bruce didn't comment. It's not like Edward's stitched green vest and his ordinary-looking sweater and trousers were ripped or dirty, he... presented well. Even not possessing expensive attires, he unambiguously took _great care_ of his garments and his complete appearance.

"If you want, you can borrow one of mine.", he suggested gently. "My mother hardly ever throws away clothing when they are in good shape, I can find you smaller suits."

He was afraid he had no solution for Stephanie who specified she wanted a "fairy-pirate-like dress".

The brother and sister were kinda _cute_ in his cabin, watching over with curious eyes.

"You are alone in such a big space?", Steph perched on a comfy armchair, bouncing on the mellow fabric of the cushion like a little bird who lands on soft grass.

"My parents' cabin is the one next door. Like most families on this bridge, we took separate rooms."

Since they outlined this feature, it probably wasn't the same on the other sections of the ship.

"Can I steal that pillow?", Stephie inquired at some point. "I want to bring it to our cabin!"

"It's not mine, it's... property of the ship. Like in a hotel."

"That doesn't bother me.", she said smugly, what earned a tiny chuckle from Bruce. "I have a dress I can wear tonight.", she mentioned then. "But I am not sure it's classy enough."

"It is.", Edward assured, visibly knowing precisely what piece of clothing she referred to.

Bruce smiled and went on with the compliments session:

"I'm sure you'll look perfect."

"Without a doubt. I _am_ perfect, what I wear is merely a detail."

"... Which one of you two is supposed to be the conceited-playing-superior one, again?"

They had fun in the furnished space of the cabin, until Ed decided it's time for the break of the afternoon.

"I don't like naps.", Stephie whined. "I feel like I lose my time when I am sleeping."

This little girl is such a _refreshing_ company.

"It's a moment used to rest.", Bruce comforted her.

"That's why I don't like it. Resting is for the weak."

Weak or not, Edward and her... indeed left. With the stolen pillow.

"You put her to bed?", Bruce elucidated when the door of his cabin opened, under an hour later.

Edward closed back the door behind him.

"And stayed a bit.", he nodded. "Her mom takes it from there. I try to... balance her schedule. We go to bed late at night for days; before we embarked, with the excitement of the incoming travel she couldn't sleep prior _early morning._ In itself it's... normal, but if I am not cautious I tend to forget while her mind is akin to a tireless battery, her body is a _child's._ So there, it's raining this afternoon and we'll have a busy evening, it's perfect for her to retrieve a few hours of sleep."

Logical indeed.

"Unless you want to rest too, may I squat?"

"You certainly 'may'."

Although the older teen didn't formulate an invitation to rummage in his cabin, Edward arrogated himself this right, in a more pronounced manner than earlier. Steph and him mostly joked with Bruce; now Eddie proved to be interested by the _details._

"Whilst you convinced your sister to nap, I dug out suits I wore a few years ago.", he made a convenient use of his time. "I placed them in my wardrobe, I hope they will... fit."

The smallest clothes he has are from three, almost four years ago when he freshly left United States to travel in Europe. He gathered the first attires his at-the-time maid shopped for him over the weeks he spent in Paris. His mother bought an obscenely large amont of dresses in France, and had him collect numerous tailored suits, arguing that "haute couture is good for our image".

Albeit Bruce hadn't unpacked most of his baggages, he had taken out some of his filled notebooks as soon as he occupied his cabin, he stored these on the shelves of the library at his disposal.

Ed scrolled through old drawings whilst Bruce compared a few of his earlier garbs, in order to select one adapted to the smaller one's frame.

"Who is this?"

Bruce turned around, about to introduce four of his suits. In the mean time Edward had sat on his bed, notebooks open around him at pages featuring portraits of the same person. Ah, so he fetched drawings of Alfred, and noticed the butler is drawn more often than any persons in his books.

Bruce placed the suits on the backrest of his desk chair (why is his cabin as furnished as a luxury hotel room...?), then walked closer to the bed. Ed scooped up one of the notebooks, as an implicit invitation for him to join, what Bruce did mechanically, he settled on the bed too, at Eddie's right. The notebook ended on his lap.

"You drew this man multiple times.", he leafed through the books. "You may don't systematically write the date of your sketches, it's evident that compared to the other faces I saw, either actual people or characters, he is the sole person who doesn't appear attached to a _slice of time,_ on the contrary he seems to... stay with you through the years."

"... You should become a detective."

"I _already am_ one.", he grinned like the Cheshire cat. "That I don't own an agency doesn't change a thing to my outstanding analytical brain and beyond compare eidetic memory. I am basically a reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes, only more handsome and _much cuter,_ because gingers rule the world."

Bruce shook his head fondly. Still, he attempted to ruin his moment of glory by reminding:

"You can't be his reincarnation, for the simple reason Sherlock Holmes never existed. He is a _fictional character."_

"What a poor repartee.", Eddie scoffed. "Every fictional character exists in their universe. Maybe you are the fictional character of one or multiple alternate realities and you don't know it."

"... Don't say things like that at dinner. Or my mother will try to have you exorcized."

They both laughed, then Ed focused back on the drawings:

"Friend of yours?"

"..."

Bruce was about to correct by ' _dear_ friend', but the words blocked in his throat, they didn't cross the barrier of his lips. He recalled the last time his younger self spoke to his parents, months post-Alfred's murder, about his troubles overcoming the grief.

 _Pennyworth's death is a tragedy that affects all of us.,_ his father had ascertained, both hands on his son's shoulders (this is a rare gesture from Thomas, even when Bruce was a child). _This being said, you can't let it put you down. You have to move on._

_I don't want to move on._

_You don't have a choice. You can't come back in time, you can't change what happened. And, for as sad as it is, it's not like someone important disappeared. I'll get you a new butler, I promise you won't see the difference._

Bruce hadn't contested. Over the next nights he cried himself to sleep, the next afternoons he stared at nothing, feeling empty and lost, the next days he sketched and had no one to show his creations to, no one to talk about bats to, no one to play with, no one to share with, no one to... live with, he didn't evoke Alfred Pennyworth again.

His own father assumed Alfred is no more than a toy he could _replace_ in Bruce's life. His mother felt the same as her husband. That's when he realized his parents... disgusted him because of their way of thinking.

"... Bruce?"

He blinked a few times, focusing on his surroundings and the redheaded teenager's... concerned face. A concerned face a few inches _too close_ to his, while he was at it. He shouldn't have sat on the bed, it would have been better if he... took the chair facing him, for example.

"Do you often space out when people talk to you?"

"... Yes. I don't... do it on purpose. It's not that I don't listen or don't want to answer. Sometimes I think of other things, they jostle in my head and I... forget about the rest."

"Alright."

Now that was his turn to feel surprised.

"Alright?", he repeated, blinking some more. "That... seems 'normal' to you?!"

"Well it's not like it was a strange or problematic issue. I did that too when I was a child, I guess I learned subconsciously how to limit the occcurences of what I called my 'looking-into-the-Void-moments'. Furthermore, you don't speak to some ignorant fool, I am _able_ to make sense out of instinctive reactions and behavioral patterns."

Bruce smiled, admirative.

"I love how you... put things into words."

That earned him a complicit wink from Edward.

"See that, rich kid? I am already indispensable in your life."

Bruce didn't expand, he rather pointed to the drawing on his knees.

"His name is Alfred Pennyworth. _He_ was indispensable in my life."

"Was?"

"... He has been killed when I was eight, almost nine years old. Two weeks before my birthday."

Ed's teasing smirk dropped.

"I'm sorry."

He gazed back at the page.

"It was... nine years ago, then. Yet you... keep on drawing him. He must be _very_ important. Who is he? An uncle? Teacher? Friend of the family?"

"My family's butler. He... served at my mother and father's for years before my birth, and he... I am an only child.", the dark-haired one found a loophole to expose their bond. "Whose parents have always been too busy, plus... not 'invested' into the process of raising a son. So..."

He paused. He doesn't have... the right to criticize Thomas and Martha Wayne, so even less with an, objectively speaking, _stranger._ Not because he feels closer to this stranger than to most people who currently share his life changes the fact they... met _two days ago._

"Let me guess!", the ginger conveyed enthusiasm, either to compensate Bruce's unease or out of genuine drive; maybe both. "This Alfred Pennyworth is your father / brother / best friend / mentor / role model... everything a kid looks up to, he raised you in place of your parents and you felt more 'related' to him than you've ever been to anyone else."

"... You deduced that out of an hesitation in my speech and drawings?"

"Those are self-explanatory clues. No offense, you are not... complicated. You're a sad boy, you lost people, you never overcame the mourning and you despise the society in which you consider your loved ones _abandoned_ you. I start to... get you."

"I wish I could say the same."

It frustrated him to appear so... transparent, according to Edward's definition.

"You can.", Ed reassured him casually. "I am not complicated either. I'm sixteen, I am too young to rely on an expanded backstory, I didn't travel enough to have experience in various fields, I haven't discovered a lot. I am just... good at asking questions, and that often makes all the difference. I analyze people the way I mentally dissect things to understand their _mechanisms._ It works more or less depending on the subject."

Not exactly personal informations, but definitely an accurate justification of his observations and way to apprehend his surroundings.

"I am not allowed to miss him.", Bruce uttered quietly, he forestalled his self-censorship that might forbid him from letting that out.

Edward arched an orange eyebrow.

"... You are 'not allowed' to miss a man who meant the world to you when you were a child?!"

"No. He was a valet, easy to replace. I shouldn't have grown attached to someone who was _paid_ to take care of me. I was barely his... job, not his family."

In a swift movement, Edward closed a notebook, raised it up and... gave a light slap to the top of Bruce's head with it.

"If it's to say things that stupid, you shouldn't speak at all."

Bruce stared at him, unable to... put together what happened.

Then Edward laughed at the _face_ he made:

"You look like a fish propelled in open air."

They didn't pursue: someone knocked two times at the door. Bruce jumped to his feet.

"Oh, mister Wayne.", the young maid who entered acknowledged him politely, her Belgian accent discernible despite the way English rolled smoothly on her tongue. "Your mother is in the tea salon, she's searching you."

"Well I was... there.", he remarked flatly. "Thanks Andi, tell her I arrive in a minute or so."

The girl would have left if her eyes didn't meet Edward's, sitting on the bed.

"... M-mister Wayne.", an anxious line materialized on her forehead. "You know I must keep Mrs and Mr Wayne abreast of your acquaintances if they are..."

"It's not... he is not.", Bruce denied immediately.

He grabbed Edward's upper arm, harshly pulled him from the bed. Ed startled, not expecting the abrupt gesture, in a hurry he removed his right arm from Bruce's grip, his heart pounding fast in his chest.

"Edward was watching my drawings.", he indicated. "There's no need to tell my parents."

"... Fine, Master Bruce."

She exited the room, Bruce hoped she won't go straight to his mother talk to her. Andrea worked for them for the past two years, her parents sold her –hum, they _had her hired_ as a maid in their family against a... salary–. This is a common custom in modest families with numerous kids, to place the younger daughters as servants in healthy homes. They had a few girls working for them over their stay in Europe, most went back to their parents' when they announced they return to United States.

Andrea Beaumont's father having no interest in taking her back... she ended up _staying._ The teenage girl saw the advantages of a travel to America, she nurtured the phantasm to start a better life, on her own, after a few additional years working at the Waynes'.

"Alright, get out.", Bruce addressed his guest without watching him, his eyes riveted on the outside from the cabin door Andrea left ajar. "Choose one of my suits if you want, I'll go see my mother."

He met no reaction. Finally Bruce turned around, puzzled over the silence from behind him, and he saw Eddie... frozen on the spot where he stood.

"... Edward?"

Was that _fear_ painted on the ginger's face?!

"Don't.", the teen articulated at last, in an attempt at erasing any dim shaking from his voice. "Do that. _Don't do that again.",_ he ordered, a plain _rage_ surfacing in his tone.

"Do what, I..."

Bruce's gaze travelled back to the mattress.

"Are you angry because I... asked you to stand up?", he inferred with disbelief.

"You didn't 'ask me', you treated me like a ragdoll!"

"... So?"

Not a smart reply.

Edward's lips pursed in a thin line, annoyed. If he wanted to play vexed, Bruce could have confronted his nosy attitude of earlier, what he didn't and...

"You slapped me with my own notebook minutes ago.", he reminded. "So what is it, _you_ can do what you want, but _I_ should demand permission?!"

"It's not the same."

"It's _exactly_ the same."

"It's not.", he refused, stubborn. "Look... I have no problems with physical contacts. I practice them too, they don't bother me. Only... violent impulses, even when they are not directed _against_ me, are... out of the question. You can hold my hands, poke my arms, squeeze my shoulders, play with my hair if you want; not _grab_ me, pull me or hit me."

"I wouldn't have 'hit' you, I..."

"I know. Still, being roughly urged to my feet is _not_ what I call a friendly contact. The... times other people did that with me, I invariably ended up bleeding on the floor and aching all over. Do not... reiterate."

Bruce frowned, a sense of... guilt –was it truly 'guilt'? he wasn't sure– slowing bulging inside him.

"... Sorry."

"Apologies accepted.", he clicked his tongue, irritated.

Notwithstanding the sudden heavy atmosphere, Bruce didn't see anything else to add. After all, it's not like he had a part of responsibility.

"I'll... see you on the bridge before dinner?", he checked, unsure.

"Steph and I will stop by."

______________

"What are you doing?"

Edward jumped out of his skin.

Not that Arthur Brown is inconspicuous (how could that tall, loud man sneak up on anybody...?), but he prompted his question in synchronization with opening the cabin's door, the instant his eyes landed on the notebook. Crystal and Stephanie left not long ago, the adult wanted to introduce her to a friend she met today, who has a daughter her age. And Art wasn't around until then. So Eddie took this improvised alone time to examine a book he picked at random.

Naturally, Arthur glanced over his shoulder.

His large smile caused Edward's whole face to turn a glowing shade of _red._

"You are reading porn!"

"I swear it's... not what it looks like."

The double page showing the drawing of a naked woman indicated otherwise.

"Don't smile like that, you idiot.", he sighed. "See Art, this is... well, _art._ Not a porn magazine."

"It's an upgraded version! The erotic pics Duncan, William and Dufus circulated at the building site were nothing near as pretty. With the guys, we renamed Paul Booker's sketches 'major disasters', to give you an idea of the style. Let me check how detailed is that..."

Edward closed the book with an audible offended huff, what made his eldest _laugh_ and didn't arrange the tomato red color of his cheeks.

"Come on, it's some cool material you've got there!"

"You know, you... can't say things like that when you are _married_ and a _father.",_ he rejected sternly.

"That just proves I love women's bodies."

"... I _don't want_ to discuss this."

Art ruffled Edward's shoulder-length hair with affection.

"It's alright, son. Actually, that _pleases me_ you do teenager stuff instead of elaborating over weird, complicated science documents. For once, I feel like we have something in common."

Edward would have protested for the gesture ruined the perfectly combed aspect of his ginger strands, if it wasn't for the use of 'son'. The term made him feel... warm inside. He likes it when the man brings up this denomination to refer to him.

"I stole a notebook of Bruce's before I left his cabin.", he eyed the supple black cover, on which nothing indicated the... heated content of some sketches.

"You had a lucky hand! Can I take a look again at..."

"No, you can't."

Arthur laughed some more.

"I hu... took this. Without... asking for permission.", Eddie handed the notebook over to Bruce. "That will serve me as a lesson next time I steal things from people: due to a couple of your drawings, I inherited of an _awkward_ conversation with Arthur. He _loved_ some of the pics."

Bruce seized the notebook. Ed thought he would get mad, what would have been understandable. Instead he... smiled.

"That is Selina's.", he said tenderely.

So _that's_ the name of the short-haired woman he drew on practically all pages, under multiple angles, in different settings (essentially laying in _one couch),_ plus wearing all kind of attires. Richly dressed, with sometimes the upper part of her face covered of a veil fixed under a stylish hat, once with a Venetian mask that made her features resemble a feline's, with various elegant clothes... and no clothes at all at recurrent occasions.

Edward has the intuition each drawing is from a _real model,_ the implication of this deduction... disturbed him a little.

"Who is she?", he queried, surprised himself by the perceptible bitterness in his voice.

There, he decided he doesn't like that woman who posed naked in front of _his_ artist. Not because she is pretty fit means she must be an exhibitionist. Hadn't she ever heard about something called _dignity?!_

He tried... not to ponder over _what else_ than drawing they probably did. His vivid imagination betrayed him, despite his willingness not to speculate, he failed to evacuate the illustrated scenarios blooming in his brain.

"Someone I hanged out with during my stay in Rome last year. Her English is perfect and I speak a bit of Italian, so we... didn't have troubles communicating. We met in a museum, we have grounds in common in addition to... share a vision of what makes 'true freedom'."

"Was she your girlfriend?", Stephanie inquired.

Ed may didn't show her _some_ of the drawings, he let her see most of the book when she asked what he has in hands as they were about to join Bruce; dressed for the occasion and ready to enjoy their evening. Commenting the drawing is well-made, she also hinted she likes one of the woman's attires, a skin-tight _leather suit._

A _skin-tight,_ (that left nothing to the imagination...) _leather suit!_

No way Eddie would ever let his baby girl wear that sort of garbs. He hoped he _won't be faced_ with the problem when she becomes a teenager and an adult. Sure thing, he _will_ play mother hen no matter her age, that involves watching over how she dresses too.

"... She has been. Somehow."

"How can someone be 'somehow' your girlfriend?", Stephie opposed. "She has been, yes or not?"

Bruce crossed Edward's gaze, seeking for a silent validation.

"I wanna know! If you tell Eddie, I'll harass him until I get my answers. So you'd win responding directly."

"... You should do as the Captain says.", Edward chuckled. "Or I'm in for an interrogatory."

"We dated, for... six weeks.", Bruce revealed thereupon, thinking once more that he _loves_ those siblings' dynamics.

He felt grateful Edward didn't mention how their interaction finished earlier. Truth be told, he wasn't sure Steph and him would come at all; thus he couldn't help the _relief_ that melted his heart when the two arrived, as planned, at his cabin.

"What happened?", the girl relaunched, clearly not aware of this... setback.

Bruce was glad she doesn't know: if Edward hasn't told her, it means he won't hold it against him. That's... a very positive point.

He responded in all sincerity:

"I was in to visit another country, and Selina missed saving time for her husband. She went back home."

Ed and Steph's wide as saucers eyes were _quite the sight._

"Did you... know she was married?"

"Of course I knew.", he confirmed Steph's question, proud of himself he managed to _surprise them._ "That's why we were discreet."

"My, my, rich kid.", Edward shook his head, half-reproving half-admirative. "I didn't bet you were a _bad boy._ You grow in my esteem."

It wasn't long before they bursted out laughing.

"I wouldn't say a 'bad boy'.", Bruce relativized nevertheless. "Just... someone who gets involved with peculiar persons. Selina Kyle figures among my great encounters, we had a good time. She..."

He blushed.

"She is... older than me, she had experience. She... showed me a lot of things."

"I never saw Italy.", Stephie pouted, not associating the 'lots of things' with _sex_ but with... a tour guide.

"Wished I was there too.", Edward reinforced.

Teasing aside, these pieces of informations rekindled a certain curiosity about Bruce. Perhaps there _are_ more layers to peel off than he suspected.

"Care to tell us more about what happened to you _when in Rome?"_

"... What I can tell you is that Selina is a cat lover."

"I like her already!", Stephanie claimed. "You're right, let's not forget what matters the most."

The three of them were smiling joyously; Bruce stored his notebook in his cabin, closed the door then invited his guests to follow him to the reception hall at the center of this bridge.


	4. May I Have This Dance?

"I feel like a princess who goes to a ball.", Stephanie opened wide eyes, looking at the fancy decoration of the spacious reception hall. "You think I will meet a prince charming?"

"You'd better not.", Edward played along, holding her hand as they both reached the meeting point Bruce gave them before attending dinner. "Or I will transform into a fire-breathing dragon to bar this prince's road and force him to prove his worth before he even dares put his eyes on the princess."

They were laughing when Bruce appeared, on top of the huge stairs leading to the main room.

"Edward, Stephanie.", he saluted when arriving at their level. "Looking so gorgeous tonight."

"For me the compliment is biased, since I am wearing _one of your old suits.",_ Eddie teased. "But I agree to say I wear it in an handsome manner."

"And see? That's the dress I was talking about!", Stephie completed, she turned on herself like a spinning top to show how elegantly the lower part of the dress curves, making her resemble a cute purple flower.

"It's very nice.", Bruce approved, amused as ever, by her bright enthusiasm. "It looks good on you."

"Everything looks good on me! Especially eggplant.", she winked, and the three of them shared a smile.

They were in for a sympathetic evening.

"Should I hold your arm to enter the dining room?", Edward boasted when seeing a couple doing the gesture.

"No, it's a... man-and-woman thing.", Bruce discarded, blushing at the idea of reversing some trademark traditions. "When greeting people, you shake hands with men and kiss women on the cheeks.", he added, figuring Ed wouldn't know this either, and not wanting his sister and him to be treated of 'rude' because they ignore the etiquette. "It's a bit different for children, so Steph: when an adult initiates kisses you go on with it, otherwise saying 'good evening' is sufficient, and from one child to another you don't kiss or shake hands. A man and a woman can hold each other's arm when walking, a woman and a woman can do it too occasionally, though it's not seen positively if they aren't related. Holding hands is strictly reserved for a man to a woman. If you want to be affectionate with a man though, you can have recourse to a light squeeze on the shoulder, everyone does it."

Steph and Eddie shared a puzzled glance, afterwards the little eggplant sun inquired:

"How about you guys try to be 'natural', and have contacts when you _feel like it_ without those being dictated by a... convention?"

"I wished that were the case. Regardless, for tonight these are... simple rules, that will help you blend in. Oh and... you know how to eat with cutlery, right?"

"While the 'etiquette clarification' has been useful," Edward answered, "this question is _offensive."_

He wasn't mad though, just openly sarcastic.

Therefore, _without holding each other's arm,_ the three of them joined the space dedicated to dinner.

"I am an engineer! I can design and build any mechanical device, furniture or motor. One day I will become the most talented architect you ever heard of."

His declaration was met by some impressed comments, then Edward pointed the Titanic's engines and gave his opinion on elements that, according to him, could have been optimized.

Bruce was absolutely delighted: not only his two guests mingled with a disconcerting ease, soon they became the main attraction of the table his parents, his cousins, the Drakes, the architect of the boat, the captain and three couples, sat at.

Stephanie reported they are from the high society in Scotland (she was born in England in the poor suburbs of London...), and that their family have an ancient, gothic castle overhanging the loch ness. To prevent questions on their ties, Ed and Steph introduced themselves as cousins, pretending Eddie's mother is the older sister of Stephanie's father. A white lie that explains why they don't have the same family name yet interact as siblings, without entering into details.

They depicted a luxury lifestyle in their imaginary castle. Bruce had a hard time refraining his laughter upon seeing most people, at least the ones who participated to the exchange, _believed them._

When they recentered on individual talents, Ed jumped on the occasion to claim he constructed revolutionary machines, and that he has projects to develop the industry once in United States. Bruce was relieved no one required a demonstration or a precise analysis: although he had no doubt Eddie handled the topics he broached, he would have struggled to enter into a detailed description of the fake anecdotes he narrated.

Just when Bruce thought they went _far enough_ in their smug babbling, Steph appended that Edward classified stars never observed before thanks to the homemade telescope he built in their castle. Ed pursued by giving invented names of stars, plus he affirmed that he works on a thesis to archive all types of stellar objects, and he will submit his researches to the American Government to get hired in a scientific department studying the cosmos.

Bruce focused not to choke of laughter when eating his ribs of lamb after Kate Kane produced an admiring feedback. He took a mental note: when inviting Edward and Stephanie to dinner, he should be ready to listen Edward and Stephanie talk about _Edward and Stephanie._

His parents alone noticed something 'wrong' in the way they apprehended the dinner _itself._

Everyone took the liberty to complain the meat is 'not tender enough' or 'too salty', to have mixed feelings about the vegetables gratin, the fried potatoes and their five different sauces, as well as the trimmings. The persons who found a meal tasty criticized another, those who had no negative opinions didn't compliment either.

To Bruce, this masquerade is of a _bad taste,_ moreover it occurs exclusively at his table: others appear less avaricious when it comes to acknowledge the cooks' creations.

On the other hand, Steph and Ed ate _everything_ with a transparent glee, as if they rarely, if ever, had anything so scrumptious; or at least never in such abundance. When the conversation steered on the meals, they didn't belittle the food.

Bruce should have told them people here snipe at everything, and that finishing their plate clean, up to the last spoonful, will seem suspicious.

"I would have thought Scottish aristocrats have an inclination for more refined caviar."

"Precisely, I appreciate optimal quality even if we eat that every day. It's more of a common dish.", Edward retorted, effortlessly detecting Martha Wayne's desire to put them in difficulty. "Therefore, even if in matter of Northern sea products, _we_ master the area, this caviar comes as a _satisfying_ reminder of home."

Bruce smiled, he addressed Ed a discreet nod to signify he dealt with the issue like a boss.

"This was nice!", Stephanie rendered her verdict when they stepped out of the dining room and the reception hall.

After dinner, men smoke together in a specific bridge to talk politics while women gossip inside. The younger ones either withdraw to their cabins or, mostly for teenagers, participate to the activities in accordance with their gender.

Bruce and his guests walked outside on the wooden bridge, under the stars what materialized their shining dots in the night sky.

"A luck everyone was too polite to ask you tricky questions.", the dark-haired one jested. "Otherwise given the _delirious stuff_ you invented, you would have drowned when trying to justify yourself."

"Too polite?", Stephie furrowed her brows. "Those jerks blamed everything about dinner in front of the captain!"

"The captain doesn't work in the kitchen, it won't offend him. Quite the contrary: he compares himself to the other members of the crew, so having people phrasing disparaging remarks about the food allows him to remind how well _he_ handles his job, that is mastering the speed of the boat and having the travellers reach the promised land in due time."

"This was fun.", Eddie assured. "And contrary to what your relatives and people at this table pretended, the food was _delicious."_

Bruce wasn't sure what to expect when, as planned, they mirrored the invitation for him to spend the rest of the evening at a 'party' apparently organized from day one in the storage rooms of the third class aisle of the ship. He was curious, however he... certainly didn't foresee he'd enjoy himself so much.

First thing that hit him when Ed and Steph took both his hands to direct him down there was the sound.

Trivial music, laughs, clatter of beer mugs, loud voices, boots tapping against the wooden floor.

Not gonna lie, in the everyday life Bruce fled this kind of agitation. As he found out... so did his acquaintances.

"Usually, I hate this.", Edward briefed him when they penetrated the heated, crowded location saturated with noises. "Steph and I never approach festivities like these. But there? If you make an effort to forget the smell, the loud noises aren't... so unpleasant. It's part of the fun that comes alongside a travel on that ship."

Thus, Bruce did as he was told.

After a few drinks, he agreed that... the ambiance _is_ entertaining.

Very entertaining.

He lost it and bursted out laughing when Edward gripped his hand to participate to a jolly farandole, half-running half-dancing, the alcohol he ingested eased his investment, he was thrilled to follow the movement.

"I am not doing that.", he discarded nevertheless, later, as Ed grinned at him, daring him to dance on a floor where duos were having fun together.

Eddie and Stephanie danced there; kids, teens and adults mixed together for the activities. Now that Steph engaged in another game with children her age, Ed took the opportunity to invite him for a dance.

"Why? It's cool!"

"It is... for couples.", he rejected.

Eddie arched an orange eyebrow.

"This is not a slow, it's a do-what-you-want-nobody-cares-if-you-dance-well-or-not situation. Siblings, parents and children, random people are dancing there. It's _not_ reserved for couples."

As Bruce discerned, it's not even reserved for opposite genders since most were, effectively, persons who just met, friends or relatives. So it won't... look out-of-place to dance with a boy.

Ed cut short his reflexions when he dragged him, Bruce followed the movement once again.

"I must warn you, I don't know how to dance."

"Really? Then you missed something capital in life, rich kid! Come in there, I'll show you.", Edward giggled, taking the lead of what was nothing near a conventional or stringent dancing anyway, rather an... impulse matching the dynamic rhythm of the music.

Bruce blamed it on the liquor and the heat, he felt more at ease than he had ever been. Right here right now, he forgot about everything; about his parents, about the trip, about the sadness, about the sorrow, about... all the misery that turned him into a depressed, lost version of himself.

At present, he recovered his 'happy side', which _exists as well;_ it's with smiles and laughs that he lived it up over the night, his energy entirely absorbed into the joyous, vibrant atmosphere and the excellent company he spent this bouncy evening with.

_______________

They had a perfect evening. Just... perfect.

Edward smiled to himself when he went to bed on his berth. All cabins are conceived similarly in this aisle of the Titanic: two bunk beds and a small recess that could have served as a closet if it possessed more than _one_ single horizontal wooden board. They placed two luggages in this space, the rest under the beds. As they discovered when booking their tickets, some cabins are larger, to encompass enough room for a third (and a fourth for a limited number of cabs) bunk bed. An advantage of making the reservations early is that they saved a cabin for the _four of them,_ with no additional persons. The ocean crossing wouldn't have been as stimulating if strangers slept on mattresses next to them.

Logical given the quantity of alcohol he swallowed, Arthur passed out immediately on his mattress. At least this time he removed his shoes, Eddie won't have to do it for him. Fortunately, taking care of a drunk adult who came home so inhebriated he was barely able to recognize people under his roof occured less and less each passing month. Two years ago it counted in the recurrent, annoying sights Edward faced regularly. Now... these circumstances _spaced,_ as for tonight? Everyone parties on board of that ship, it's normal he indulged himself pleasure from the bottle.

Ed simply kept an eye on Crystal: while she appreciated alcohol too, she couldn't decently get _drunk._ The doctors have been limpid, they maintained their diagnosis during the last consultation antecedent to their trip: she must limit her consumption of salt, alcohol and grease if she didn't want a relapse.

One can have fun without getting drunk.

He enjoyed interacting with Bruce this evening, and his heart warmed to the fresh memory of him laughing. Looked like Bruce could use this type of distraction to feel better; Eddie was glad Stephanie and him provided it.

As for the 'other side' of what the evening brought... he _is_ proud of his larceny. He has been cautious, he studied people at the upper class dinner before committing anything. Nobody will notice what he robbed, he minded to steal dollars and jewels from precise targets, the kind who didn't risk to report missing objects: they wouldn't _take account_ of the disappearance of some of their possessions Ed stored meticulously in his baggage.

He collected a fine booty, one he will eventually complement if invited to receptions over the incoming days. He'll sell the jewelry when arriving in United States, this will ensure his family a fitting beginning in the country.

Eddie pushed the blanket to make room for the little silhouette who, unsurprisingly, left her bunk to climb into his own.

"You know, we could begin the night like that, it would save you the trouble of crossing the room."

"Guess we could."

They haven't yet: Stephie begins the night in her bunk above her father's... and inevitably joins Edward's in place of the two nesting in his bed from the start.

Ed pulled up the blankets on top of both of them once she snuggled, after he turned over so that Steph inherited of the spot between him and the wall instead of resting closer to the ladder.

Simple matter of precaution: there is no reason any of them would _fall_ in their sleep, but if that were to happen, he preferred blocking the access to the ground to Steph.

"Eddie?", she whispered in the dark, cuddled under the protective warmth of the blankets.

"Yes?"

"Is Bruce our... friend?"

"I suppose he is: he behaves as such, and he is a rather enjoyable company."

He felt her nodding against his chest, she validated his sincere assessment.

"If he is our friend, then... will he stay with us once the travel is over?"

Edward tensed, he feared the unavoidable question.

"... We don't need to think about this yet."

"So... you believe he won't."

Eddie sighed.

"We will disembark at Ellis Island, and he told us he lives in Gotham. He will likely leave New York the _day_ of the arrival, to return to his mansion with his parents and their maids."

"We could go to Gotham too.", she argued, stubborn. "We don't have a precise idea of where to live, we wanted to explore before settling down! So... why not in Bruce's city?"

Because we don't live in the same world., Edward pondered, a tab sad about this insurmountable reality he didn't communicate to Stephanie. For now we are together on board of the same ship, but this is... literally the _only thing_ we have in common. When in America, he will become again the heir of an healthy, influent family living in the manor house that belongs to his last name for generations.

"We'll see.", is the version he offered to his sister instead of his present internal thoughts. "Let's not debate this for now."

This brought closure to the exchange, Eddie hugged her and put a kiss on the top of her blonde head.

They were about to wish each other good night when a loud snoring disturbed the cozy atmosphere.

Steph and Ed stifled their chuckles as Arthur, in an absolute lack of dignity fitting his personality, snored like a buffalo.

"Come in!", Bruce permitted whoever knocked at his door.

He was over the moon after his evening; he returned to his cabin and changed to his pajamas prior going to bed. Andrea Beaumont entered, she quickly closed the sliding door behind her.

Bruce was in an agreeable mood, he would have greeted her and asked what she wanted in a friendly manner, if it wasn't for the _concern_ written on the young maid's features.

"Can I... talk to you, Mister Wayne?"

"Of course.", he frowned, alerted. "What is it?"

She sat on a chair facing his bed when he invited her to do so. The girl smoothed the fabric of her dingy gown, awfully embarrassed.

"I... shouldn't be there.", she begun, distressed. "Your parents wouldn't approve that I keep you abreast of this, but... I think you deserve to... know, and..."

"Andi.", he forced himself to sound comforting, even if that has never been one of his main strengths. "It's alright. I won't tell my parents you paid me a visit; since you did however, I want to _know_ what it is. Please."

She nodded, taking shaking breaths to calm herself down. She wasn't allowed to call Bruce Wayne a 'friend' given the gap between their social ranks, and the fact they've never been... close in personal fields. This being said, for her who never experienced any form of friendship whatsoever, never bonded with her family or workers living at the Waynes', she considered him the closest thing she ever had to a friend. He is nice with her, though he spends most of his time locked in his room to draw or outside (sometimes for _days_ without coming back to his parents'), avoiding the company of everyone from his household.

Right now... she deemed it normal to warn him: that's what a friend would do.

"When your mother left the reception, she... missioned me. She doesn't like your recent acquaintances, she needed to know if you... separated post-dinner. I will have to report your demeanor with them tomorrow morning. Took me a moment to find you, when I did I caught you being busy... hu... you know..."

Bruce's jaw clutched. Surely Andrea didn't follow him from the start, otherwise he would have noticed. She must have descended in the party whilst he was _into_ the action, and left this side of the boat before he did.

"I have the right to go wherever I want on board of this ship."

"I know! I... I don't think your mother has a word to say in people you frequent and what you do in your free time. With all due respect to her and your father.", she supplemented quickly: she wasn't meant to judge her masters' directives, even if she often evaluates the Wayne couple could be more _supportive_ of their son. "I have to tell her the truth nonetheless, she's going to ask me what you did and..."

"Can't you say I just went to bed?!", Bruce objected, mortified.

"I can't... You know how they are since... the Irish one."

It was a rule Thomas Wayne imposed not to pronounce Jack Napier's name; this has been, according to his father, "humiliating enough to _know_ about this street rat", he didn't want his mouth "stained" by his name. Unwilling to insult Bruce's former friend, Andrea found a neutral term to refer to him in place of sharp nicknames his parents have recourse to when they bring up the subject.

"They won't let this... reiterate. Most of all, they won't let you grow close to a _boy_ again."

Bruce's fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned a translucent shade of white, and his short nails nearly dug into the skin of his palms.

 _"Nothing_ happened between J and I.", he hammered for what felt like the millionest time. "He was my friend, that's _it._ We never... "

He took a deep breath to cool his anger.

J's fractured spine, disfigured face and his incurable inability to do _anything_ subsequent to his dreadful accident didn't change a thing to his parents' eyes: they saw the laughing teen as a 'demon' who 'corrupted' their son, they believed no punishment shall ever be enough.

"I know.", Andrea acknowledged gently. "I don't care who you befriend or... whatever else. But your parents do. And if they think you're growing close to another boy, they... might cause troubles."

"They can _try.",_ he spat harshly. "I'm ready."

"... I wasn't thinking of you, Master Bruce. All your parents can do to _you_ is to be strict and distance from you even more. Now think of what they could do to _him._ I may haven't stayed long at that party, I observed your interactions. You seem to... get along. _Think_ about it: if your parents decide to make problems to his family, it will be very easy for them to find or create something prejudicial, and you will blame yourself afterwards. I don't want that to happen. So... if you care a little bit about him, please, stop seeing him and the blonde child for the rest of the travel."

"I will... think it through."

He sounded as defeated as if someone knocked him out during a fight.

Putting a 'professional' facade on, Bruce thanked Andrea: after all everything she said is true and she indeed did her best to help him. It's not against _her_ that he would be mad.

When she left, he laid on his comfy bed, an unpleasant exhaustion crashing through him.

He spent one of his best evenings in a while, more happy than he had been in months.

It was so _unfair_ the beautiful picture shattered so soon, bringing him back to reality as if he woke up from a dream and realized all of a sudden he can't keep any of the things that newly cheered him up alive.


	5. Cast Out

"I don't have time to talk."

Edward arched an eyebrow at the rigid intonation and how Bruce's whole expression seemed... 'closed'. As if he wore a mask that completely _changed_ his features and gave him a menacing outlook. Not that Ed would acknowledge it verbally, but the other's odd attitude worried him. A little bit.

"Alright.", he tried to soothe the palpable tension. "If you are busy, I can come back later. Steph spends morning with her mom and newly-met friends on board, we can join over the afternoon if you prefer?"

There was _something_ in the way Bruce glared at him that was... frankly terrifying.

Congrats bats-lover, Eddie jeered internally, you make me feel _uncomfortable._

"... What is it?", he broke the tensed silence since Bruce seemed unwilling to do it. "I won't take it poorly if you ask for a bit of space over the incoming hours, we have no obligation towards one another. So... I'll come back later?", he proposed, wishing he'd sound more confident.

"There won't have a 'later'.", Bruce corrected in a cold, low voice that gave Edward the chills. "Your third class ticket doesn't allow you to visit this bridge unless you are invited, what at the moment, you are not."

And just like that, he... turned around.

Okay, nope. Ed was not having it.

"What happened to you?!"

He bypassed on his left to block the young adult's path and straight up stand _in front of him_ again _._

"Why are you behaving like a total weirdo today?! I have no..."

"I am not a weirdo.", Bruce rejected in this freezing tone. "I am tired. What do you even _want?_ I invited you to dinner to thank Stephanie and you for being a pleasant distraction over the past days, what else are you trying to obtain from me?"

Edward stared.

"... Did you just call Steph and I a 'distraction'?!"

His confusion and mild apprehension regarding Bruce's line of conduct this morning morphed into a plain _rage._

"I did.", blue-eyed one confirmed, as if bored by the truthful statement. "And I won't apologize for that. That's what the... people like _you,"_ he emphasized the 'you', putting as much disgust as he could convene in the term, "are good at. Therefore, thanks for your services, but I intend to enjoy my trip so... I won't waste more of my time for you."

Notwithstanding the fact Edward remained angry –he deemed it legitimate given the insults that have been tossed at his face...–, his suspicious expression demonstrated that he pierced the trickery.

"You should have been more subtle if you wanted me to believe you genuinely wish to throw us away. _What happened,_ Bruce? Did... someone force you to play mean? Or are you trying to send me away 'cause you... think I'd get in troubles, perhaps?"

Yesterday's pickpocketing danced in his mind. Still, if Bruce noticed he robbed a handful of jewels whilst greeting the guests, he would have... pointed it out. Not necessarily _during_ dinner, but afterwards when they left, he wouldn't have joined the party below if he saw Ed abused of, technically, _his_ hospitality since it's _Bruce_ who invited his sister and him.

However if his demeanor is not linked to this, then... what is it?

"You think you're a detective, hu?", the older one retorted, an audible _mockery_ surfacing in his voice. "Well let me spoil that for you: having one brilliant idea or two once in a blue moon doesn't make you 'smart'. You don't have anything to 'deduce' or to 'investigate' over what I say. Just be a good boy and leave this side of the boat before I tell the security staff I am being harassed by a passenger who has nothing to do on this bridge."

Edward felt the ire boiling in his veins.

"I should have been careful," he pushed forward, "when petting strays and being kind to them. I should have known they won't let me breath once I sympathized with them."

"... You are really _dumb,_ Bruce Wayne, you know that?! Nonetheless, your pathetic attempt at making me angry is working, so... unless you confess _right now_ what you are trying to achieve or who you protect and why, I won't help you."

"Fine! Because I fail to see why I would request the help of a fake genius who thinks he is better than everyone else."

"That's it.", Edward hissed, barely keeping the wrath bottled. "Unless you come to my cabin to apologize, and I mean with _actual_ apologies, I don't want you around Stephanie and I anymore."

"Finally, you understood what I meant. Took you long enough."

From the corner of his eye, Bruce spotted his parents who appeared at an angle of the bridge. As convened with Andrea earlier this morning, she should alert them when coming, as if by chance, across a 'dispute' between Edward and him. This should coax his parents that all things considered, they weren't as 'close' as Martha Wayne feared they'd be.

Time for some extra, even if that risked to attract attention from bystanders.

"Bruce, I..."

"I don't care! You wanted to make fun of me by inviting me to a... silly _party_ in your side of the boat and hoping I'd behave like a drunk fool, while _I_ have been nice with you. I don't even know why I am trying. So I'm gonna ask you again: leave me alone."

"You're too stupid. I don't think you are even aware of how _childish_ your little 'act' is, and..."

Edward's heart was beating so loudly he would have bet Bruce heard it. He blinked away the tears when he stood back up on shaky legs. He collected far worse from his father and others, the blow itself is not critical. Only the feeling of _betrayal_ it created hurt like Hell.

"Do I need to be more clear?"

No emotion, no concern, not a hint of remorse arose in this statue-like face of a mask. Surely if Bruce was pretending, he would at least look a tab sorry he _hit him_ and made him _fall on the ground_ under the impact of his fist colliding with his cheekbone, right?

... Right?

Without a word, Edward ran off, not glancing backward.

______________

"This didn't seem a hint convincing."

"I assure you, it looked _very_ convincing.", Andrea cleaned the tray on the low table after Bruce finished his breakfast in a cozy, living-room like space of the ship. "You did the right choice."

"If you say so..."

He had no intention to pursue this debate; he made a stopover at his cabin to grab his current notebook and a pencil, then found a free deck chair in the bridge reserved for relaxation.

Not far from his position, Kate was having fun with a teenager she met and must have introduced... what doesn't mean Bruce would remember the girl's name.

He opened his book at the new double blank page.

He wrote the date at the lower right corner: 13 of April 1912.

His hand hesitated between drawing a melancholic bat that would mirror his mood, or something neutral to distract himself. He won't make attempts at portraits of Edward and Stephanie, he doesn't need this kind of reminder. It would be better if he simply forgets about them.

He let his pencil take the lead to represent a landscape... and realized soon enough this was none other than a draft of the imaginary castle on the hill Ed and Steph described yesterday. Not suppressing a sigh, Bruce resumed the sketch, he added a view of the Loch Ness below the small hill provided with its elegant, gothic castle. He reserved a tower for an oversized telescope placed on a terrace and pointed up toward the sky.

Since it was a black and white drawing, he placed a crescent moon and stars in the upper part of the double page. He always thinks it through prior portraying night time when using colors: he finds it harder to give a realistic aspect to shadows than it is for sunlight.

There, this will occupy his day; he'll produce one drawing after the other until he goes back at a neutral field, not worrying about anything else than his style.

The door of the cabin opened with a loud 'bang!', what made Edward cringe of displeasure due to the sound _and_ the unwanted intrusion.

He didn't seek for anyone's company at this instant, didn't plan to justify his morosity and his presence inside while the weather is clement and the morning sunny already, didn't project an amiable discussion when in such a foul mood, didn't...

"I thought you'd be with your upper class buddy!"

"I thought you'd be... wherever else.", he brushed the issue off, looking away. "Not that I give a damn."

He refused to cross Arthur's gaze. With a bit of luck, the blond man came to grab something in their cabin and will exit rapidly.

"I lost again.", he conceded, heading to his luggage. "I know it's pointless not to tell you, you always check the accounts. So there... sorry, I'll regain our money during the rematch this afternoon."

"... It doesn't matter."

He perceived Arthur's confusion: usually Ed is one to lecture him for wasting their savings in gambling. Before he inquired what's wrong, Edward took his baggage from under one of the bunk beds, went straight for the shirt in the creases of which he hid his booty. He wouldn't have showed it to his sorta-acolyte during the travel, yet... he wanted to _comfort himself_ _:_ at least this 'friendship' with Bruce served for something.

"Don't worry. We won't have money problems, we'll trade these jewels against a solid roll of dollars then leave New York and start anew where we feel like it."

Art congratulated him. He didn't interrogate the provenance of the stolen merchandise, Edward's pickpocket talents are established for _years_ and... literally how they met: Arthur caught him stealing an old lady's purse at one of the open air markets in London a while ago. He proposed the kid a win-win solution: if he gave him half the content of the purse, he won't denounce him to the cops.

The redheaded little boy had been so _relieved_ the tall man who had grabbed his arm in an iron grip and urged him to a side lane turned out to be... relatively friendly, instead of assaulting him. One thing leading to another, Eddie ended up invited to his house, where he lived with Crystal albeit they were not married yet and... life settled the rest.

"... Wait, _what_ is that on your cheek?"

Edward blushed crimson, abruptly brought back onto the present. Too late: Brown grabbed his chin to prevent him from turning his head to the side.

"I swear it's nothing, I..."

"Somebody _punched_ you?!"

Eddie sighed, he wriggled until Arthur let go of his hold on his face.

"Stop that.", he discarded. "It's none of your concern."

"It is! If someone dared to raise a hand on my son, I wanna know _where_ this person is and make them regret they embarked!"

Edward smiled.

"Thanks, Art. But... you can turn the 'bodyguard vibe' down. I'm alright, I dealt with it. There's... no more to do. I assure you. We're fine."

The adult grumbled, probably disappointed he missed an occasion to jump in a fight.

"I think I need a bit of fresh air. I must... recenter my priorities."

I have no reason to hang out with a rich depressed brat who, on top of being a mess, becomes violent without warning., he appended in his head.

He returned the robbed jewels to their lair in his purple shirt and closed his luggage. Too absorbed into his reflexions, Eddie didn't notice Arthur's... interested gaze, riveted on the exact spot where the haul disappeared, as if he took note of _where_ it is.

"Even with this improvised financial boost," he went on, looking up to him, "try not to _squander_ our cash reserves in poker tournaments."

"I promise!"

They parted thereupon, Edward aimed for Stephanie and Crystal's location, decided to have a tranquil day free from incidents and _no activity_ that would involve Bruce Wayne.

______________

"I have a word to tell you!"

Bruce granted an incredulous glance to the blonde girl who bursted, alone, in his cabin.

"... You have nothing to do here, Steph.", he indicated, in a stoic though not dismissive tone of voice.

It's harder to be harsh with a child than it had been yesterday morning with Edward. It facilitated the breakup not to meet further complications: Ed didn't reappear over neither the afternoon nor the evening, Bruce considered the affair _done._

Except that... this morning, his cabin sliding door opened to let an angry little bird in.

It was just past six on the morning; rare were the people outside at this hour, Stephanie must have crossed the boat not meeting anyone aside from eventual crew members doing their duty.

"Does Edward know you are here?"

"Mom, dad and him are sleeping. I know how to be cautious and not make any noise, I left without waking anyone up!"

"Then do the trip reversal: return to your cab and go back to bed _without waking anyone up."_

She crossed her arms on her chest, raised her chin up. Her provocative attitude looked _adorable,_ not that Bruce would point that out.

"What did you do yesterday?! Eddie is so mad at you, he said we shouldn't talk to you anymore and that we are not allowed to come on your side of the boat!"

"He summarized the essential.", Bruce replied, laconic. "Listen to your brother, there is nothing else left to say."

"... Why are you up so early?"

Bruce's cheeks colored a bright shade of pink.

"None of your business. Now Steph, I will have to ask you to leave."

"You feel guilty, that's why? You had nightmares? Eddie has the same look on his face on mornings when he wakes up after nightmares. And he _always_ has bad nights after disputes or when he had troubles over the day. Tonight it surely took him forever to fall asleep, I guess I slept hours before him."

Bruce smiled slightly. 

"No doubt, 'scarily perceptive' runs in the family.", he acknowledged. "I am... used not to sleep well at nights. The nightmares are... recurrent."

He paused, searching a valid explanation to offer to the four years old and a half, as well as an efficient way to make her _quit._ How could he have a child, even such a clever one, understand her brother and her are potentially in _danger_ if they tag along with him, that he... breaks everything he touches, people included?

He didn't wonder long over how to cast the girl out: the door moved, and an infuriated ginger cat barged in.

"There you were!"

Edward shot Bruce a murderous glare. The angry purple mark on his left cheekbone caused an immediate, strong pang of _guilt_ to twist his guts. At least the teen didn't inherit of a black eye, he would have if Bruce hit him a inch higher.

"Stephie, may I know _why_ you thought this could be a good idea to go to Bruce's cabin?!"

"I never thought of it as a 'good' idea. Just as... an idea. I don't like not knowing what happened and I am not letting go until I get my answers!"

Ed's lips contracted into a thin line.

"Stephanie. I said no."

At this moment Bruce discerned the difference between their bickering, mutual teasing and cute siblings interaction from... Edward's role of a father or mother who puts boundaries to his child. Bruce believed he couldn't be the kind to refuse anything to her; right now he realized he may act like a big brother he _is_ also a parent, and reacts in consequence when his daughter must get scolded for disobeying.

"... Be responsible, alright?", Bruce required.

Somehow, it made him feel more guilty to think he could be liable for a feud between those two than to know he is at the origin of the break of their recent friendship. So he pursued, defeatist but resolute:

"Stop coming here. I cause troubles to people I love, then I move from one person to another, leaving pain behind me everywhere I walk. That's the... sole thing I do. I've done it _enough,_ I won't reiterate with you."

"Did somebody accuse you of that or is it something you persuaded yourself of?", Edward frowned.

"If you stick around, you will get in troubles. This is not a paranoid assumption, just... how things go for _anyone_ who grows close to me. I am _bad luck._ So... don't let my parents see us together again. Let's finish the travel apart, we'll see for the rest later."

"If it was because of your parents, you could have simply told us.", Stephanie whispered quietly. "We are not stupid, we would have understood."

Eddie nodded, Bruce addressed them a faint smile.

"Of course. I... had to look convincing."

"My cheekbone and dignity are convinced you're a tough guy, thank you very much."

"... My apologies to both. Now leave. It's not dawn yet, nobody will remark you reaching your cabin."

Stephanie and Edward shared a glance.

"If you don't want us to be seen together anymore, then... we can do one last li'l thing and after this, only meet late to watch the stars or early to watch the sunrise.", she decided. "But first, take this."

Bruce blinked after Steph _kicked his tibia_ via a vigorous movement of her leg.

"That's for punching Eddie! You big jerk."

Despite everything, the siblings laughed upon seeing Bruce's _surprise._ He wasn't long to chuckle too.

"Don't think you're getting away with it, I am not forgiving you that easily.", Edward specified nevertheless. "It's in progress however! And I keep your suit for reparation."

"I would have gifted it to you anyway."

"So I'll have to raise the bidding! Once I will see something shiny you possess and I would like to have, I'll ask for it."

"... Sure.", Bruce scoffed, amused by this cat's tendencies to behave like a magpie.

"I wanted to do that since we boarded, but we are never awake early enough!"

After some bargaining, Stephanie dragged the boys to the prow of the ship. They were a few minutes before dawn, they won't get noticed.

They convened to split after this, Ed and Steph simply mentioned they go out at night to watch the stars, letting it open for Bruce to join if he felt like it.

Right now... Stephie insisted on the fact she wanted to try something.

Edward proved initially quite reluctant... he ended up complying; Steph climbed on his back and Bruce secured them as he climbed on the edges of the prow. While he wouldn't have agreed if it was just the two of them, there with Bruce who is objectively _robust,_ the gesture feels... secure.

"What are you doi..."

"Don't worry.", Bruce cut Ed's miffed tone. "I won't let go."

The young adult stood on the ship's rail behind Edward, insensitive to any form of vertigo; it's impossible for him to _fall._ No matter the context, he could _jump,_ but not fall.

Eddie gradually relaxed: he did his own walkings on rooftops at nights and days regularly enough not to be sensible to dizziness, he simply remained prudent especially when Stephanie is involved.

Standing above the waves on the prow, at the extreme edge of the Titanic, the three of them watched the maritime landscape in the pink, orange and golden lights of the beginning of the day, the wind blowing in their hair and them breathing the invigorating, crisp morning air saturated with salt spray.

Stephanie translated the pure, exhilarating sentiment by raising her arms to the colorful sky looking like the artwork of a painter and shouting a vivid:

"We are the kings of the world!"

From their spot overhanging the Atlantic Ocean, it felt like they were _flying_ in the crack of dawn.


End file.
